


remember me

by call_me_steve



Category: Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: (background izzy/simon is temporary cuz they break up :( ), (character tags mostly), Background Simon Lewis/Isabelle Lightwood, Canonical Character Death, Gen, George Lovelace lives, Ghosts, How the hell do I tag this, Im tired, M/M, Magic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Shadowhunter Simon Lewis, Simon Lewis Needs a Hug, kind of anyway, simon/george is endgame bc i can, temporary tho :)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:06:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27580445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/call_me_steve/pseuds/call_me_steve
Summary: During a trip to the London Institute to visit George Lovelace's grave, Simon finds himself standing face to face with his dead friend.Everything changes.-In which, George comes back to life as some sort of ghost, he and Simon become roommates again, and then become something more.
Relationships: Simon Lewis & George Lovelace, Simon Lewis/George Lovelace
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	remember me

**Author's Note:**

> "why did you write this, rea?" you ask. 
> 
> because i can. thank u. (also??? why are there like no fics for this pairing why do i have to do it)
> 
> here's my tumblr: [potato-reblob](https://potato-reblob.tumblr.com/)

Simon would like to think he’s good at remembering people. Simon would like to think he’s good at remembering  _ him- _ George Lovelace, his roommate and close friend of two years. 

Simon remembers him in the dead of the night, after all, when he’s filing through these memories he’s gotten back; when he’s mourning Jordan and regretting his actions towards Raphael; when he’s recalling Max and how losing him had affected Izzy; when he’s cursing Sebastian and wishing that Jonathan Fairchild could have been saved. Simon remembers him in the birth of the morn, when he’s curled up at Clary’s side; when he’s listening to Jace and Alec bicker; when he’s watching Magnus carry around Max; when he’s holding Isabelle’s hand and drawing stars into her skin. 

Simon remembers him  _ most _ when he meets up with Jon and Marisol, Julie and Beatriz. George is painfully apparent in those little moments, his absence burning a hole right into Simon’s brain. 

But, yeah. Simon remembers him.

Sometimes, he recalls back to when he’d been riddled with demon amnesia, before he’d found himself in the Academy. Simon had been stuck in a home that didn’t feel like  _ home, _ and he hadn’t remembered what it was like to lose someone you were close to beyond the faint hurt of losing his father. Remembering Jordan had been like driving Eric’s van straight into a brick wall. Jordan had been his  _ friend. _ His  _ responsibility. _

And then he was gone. Gone, just like that, without Simon’s knowledge.

Remembering Raphael hadn’t come ‘till later. It’d crept up on him, and then it had stung him like a bee. Simon had owed Raphael so much- had owed him his  _ life. _

After the Academy, after drinking from the Cup, Simon remembered Max and how bad losing him had torn Isabelle apart. He could tell you how much it hurt to watch Jonathan Fairchild die because of Sebastian Morgenstern and Valentine’s decisions. 

Now it’s George who’s gone. 

George Lovelace is gone. 

He’s not coming back.

Simon thinks that maybe it’d be better if he forgot about the Shadow World again. He thinks it’d be better if he didn’t have the sweet memories of Jordan playing video games with Jace and falling over Maia; if he didn’t know that Raphael had turned him away after offering Simon a place in his world; if he didn’t  _ remember _ George- George with his blazing smiles and his bouncing curls, his jokes and his fears and his quirks-

If remembering Jordan was like crashing a car, and remembering Raphael was like getting stung by a bee- Remembering  _ Geore _ was like being caught in a wildfire. His memory ate up everything, tainting it and destroying it until he couldn’t look back on the good without remembering the aftermath of Ascending. 

The fact that Simon had even gotten all of his memories back, no sooner than five minutes before everything happened- that just makes it  _ worse. _ Simon had finally felt complete for the first time in two years. He felt whole for the first time since he’d been found by Isabelle and Magnus; since he’d been placed back at home with a mom who couldn’t love him unconditionally the way that she said he was; since he’d left the city that had all of these  _ people _ who couldn’t help but look at him like he was supposed to remember them and be the old Simon.

Then Simon had stood up and walked out of that circle.

He’d given George a high five.

He’d watched George kneel down.

He’d heard George say,  _ “Slàinte!” _

He’d-

If there’s one thing that Simon remembers vividly, it’s that. The burst of darkness. The Consul. Those black veins that had spidered across a body that couldn’t possibly be George. 

Simon had tried his best to go to him. Catarina had stopped him.

It’s for the best that she stopped him.

After the Consul and the other adults had carried George’s body away, Catarina had walked Simon outside. There they met up with Clary, Isabelle, Jace, Magnus, Alec and Max. His first thought, when he’d seen them, was  _ family. _ That’s when his soul started to ache- his bones and his heart and his gut all echoed with the same sore hurt that flooded his mind. He remembered hearing George say that he hadn’t invited his parents to the Ascending since they wouldn’t have liked to see him die.

George had said it because it was supposed to be a  _ joke. _ A silly, stupid  _ joke. _

It hadn’t been a silly, stupid joke in the end. Why hadn’t it been a joke?

_ Because sometimes it just isn’t fair. There isn’t always a reason.  _

One thing that Simon  _ doesn’t _ remember is that ‘after’ part. Yes, Catarina had brought him outside. But- Then what? Had Simon cried? Stood there like a zombie? Did he run in for a hug from Clary? Press himself against Isabelle? Or, had he simply stared at them with red, puffy eyes and realized,  _ it’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair? _

The weeks that had followed passed by in the blink of an eye. There was training and dating and waiting. There were trips and fights and ceremonies. There were funerals and crying and visiting. 

Mostly visiting the London Institute, anyway.

Simon visits the London Institute frequently- visits George even though he’s been reduced to nothing more than fine letters carved into metal and imbedded in stone, curving and curling beneath Simon’s fingertips. Sometimes it hurts too much to sit before that plaque. It’s the last bit of George that remains in the world.

George hadn’t even been able to be buried the way he wanted to be- his bones ground to dust and his body cremated into ash to be used in the City of Bones like a true shadowhunter. 

Now all Simon can do is find a portal to the London Institute and have a one-sided conversation with a headstone. And-  _ by the Angel, _ Simon can fill in the blanks of their conversations with what George would’ve said, right down to the tone of voice he would’ve used. He can imagine George standing in front of him, one hand sweeping back his curls. His shoelaces would be untied and his voice would be thick with his Scottish brogue. 

Simon’s imagination doesn’t stop there. He can imagine George sleeping across the room from him, muttering about sheep in his sleep. 

“It’s getting harder to wake up in the mornings without you,” Simon says, and he can imagine George setting a hand on his shoulder and saying,  _ It’s the lack of rats, Simon, I’m telling you. _

Remembering is the worst.

Standing in front of this  _ grave _ is the worst.

Listening to Clary and Izzy talk behind him as he stands in front of this grave and remembers- it’s the worst. Of course, that’s right when Clary decides to inch forward, her hand hovering over Simon’s shoulder. “Si-” she starts, sounding unsure. 

The nickname sends a jolt through his body.  _ George _ called him Si, too, with such familiarity and friendliness that hearing it from anyone else hurts. (Why does mourning George feel like trudging through the slime that had coated his bedroom walls in the Academy? Why does-)

(Their bedroom walls. George and Simon’s bedroom walls.)

(Oh, God-)

Simon shakes his head and turns to look at Clary, dropping his hand from the plaque. He’s crouched before it, and had been running his fingers over the engraving, curling his pointer around the  _ G. _

Not for the first time, he thinks it’d be easier if he didn’t remember George. It’d be easier if he didn’t have his  _ ghost _ trailing after him and these memories that haunted him. It’d be easier if he and George had just  _ ran _ the night before the Ascending. But- just like how Simon can’t  _ forget _ George, he couldn’t have skipped out on the Ascending. Neither could George. 

Besides. Simon  _ cherishes _ the time that they got to spend together. He likes having all of his memories back, too. Getting to meet George, and getting to have him in his  _ life- _ Getting to unlock that block in his memories? He wouldn’t trade that for the world. He couldn’t. Simon can’t even  _ begin _ to imagine where he’d be if he and George hadn’t ended up as roommates in the first place. 

Simon just wishes that George hadn’t had to die. 

Clary speaks up again. “Izzy and I are going to give you two a moment,” she tells him, somber and sheepish at the same time. “There’s someone we have to go talk to, real quick, okay?” 

He can’t find his voice in time to bid clary and Izzy farewell. Clary wraps her arm around Isabelle’s shoulders and leads her away, and all Simon can do is watch their backs until they disappear into the doors of the institute, leaving Simon alone. 

With them gone, he takes this as his chance to turn back to the headstone, after fixing his position so he’s sitting on the stone path beneath him rather than crouching. “It’s just you and me, now,” he whispers, and hears the wind reply in George’s voice,  _ You sound like it’s a bad thing, Si. _ Simon leans forward, settling his forehead against the stone before him. “By the Angel, George. I miss you so much. You know that, don’t you?”

He doesn’t get a response. Not even the wind answers him. 

As he drags a hand over his face, he pulls back from the headstone. In a low mutter, he breathes, _ “Fuck-” _

And that’s when he sees it. 

_ Something _ flickers above the grave, just beyond the metal plaque that bears George’s name. Something  _ flickers- _ something dressed in a faded red rugby shirt and ripped jeans, old sneakers with untied laces and wayward curls-

Simon vaults to his feet and throws himself backwards, reaching for the dagger tucked in his boot. (It’s only there because Isabelle insisted, of course.) He gasps in lieu of breathing and nearly falls onto his ass in his haste. “Wh-?”

His eyes lock down onto the flickering figure. The flashing is more like a lightbulb at the end of its rope. It’s there one second and then gone the next, there again and-

It’s not an  _ it, _ Simon realizes, as the flickering steadily stops to reveal a glass-like being. Why- He’d recognize that outfit and those  _ eyes _ anywhere in the world. After realizing  _ that, _ he can’t help himself when his hand raises to his mouth. 

“George,” says Simon. “Oh my God.” 

George Lovelace meets Simon’s eyes for the first time in months, and grins that dazzling smile that leaves his teeth catching in the light. His long lashes flutter against his cheeks when he blinks, before opening back up to reveal brown eyes, swirling like milk chocolate. “Hey, stranger,” he replies, voice thick with that accent of his. “Long time no talk.” 


End file.
